


Jesus Was A Cross Maker

by queenofchildren



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (non-graphic), Bandits & Outlaws, Bonnie and Clyde/Robin Hood-mashup, Character Death, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Great Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 11:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3172610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's a bandit and a heart breaker<br/>Oh, but Jesus was a cross maker.</p><p>When beleaguered doctor Clarke Griffin crosses paths with famous outlaw Bellamy Blake, she has a decision to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jesus Was A Cross Maker

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I started writing 'We could do some damage', I've become obsessed with Bonnie and Clyde-type outlaw stories for those two. (I mean, even their initials match!) I did some research on the Great Depression-era (well, on Wikipedia), but  
> there are probably still plenty of errors, so forgive me for that. 
> 
> Warning: This story is mostly lighthearted, but I don't have to tell you how Bonnie and Clyde ended up.

_One time I trusted a stranger_  
_Cuz I heard his sweet song_  
_And it was gently enticin' me_  
_Tho' there was somethin' wrong_  
  


Clarke Griffin is sweating in the midday sun, she's in a hurry, and she has a million things to worry about. Crossing the town square, virtually empty in the sweltering heat, she doesn't have more than an irritated huff to spare the sensational headline glaring from the newsstand: Apparently, the noble outlaw Bellamy Blake and his gang have committed another robbery nearby.

Like everyone else, Clarke has heard about Bellamy Blake, dubbed the 'Robin Hood of the Midwest'. For months he has been robbing banks and stores with his devoted gang and giving their bounty to those who were hit particularly hard in the recent economic crisis. Witness stories have fashioned him into a mythical hero; tall, dark and handsome, passionate and selfless. Women are leaving tokens of love at places he and his gang have robbed, and newspapers receive countless letters from readers expressing their admiration for the outlaw.

Clarke only scoffs when the nurses start swooning over him at the small-town hospital where she's just finished training to be a doctor. It's all well and good to listen breathlessly to Robin Hood stories as a little girl, but they are grown women who should at least know the difference between a historically undocumented figure of folklore and an actual dangerous criminal. Granted, so far his people have not killed anyone. But they are still breaking the law, and it's only a matter of time before they're all locked up or shot by the police, no matter how handsome and selfless.

Nonetheless, she can't help but feel grudging respect for the gang's apparent altruistic motives. The rural towns have been hit doubly hard by depression and drought, and people are so dreadfully poor they are often left with no choice but to starve in their rickety huts or leave their homes for hard, badly paid work in other regions. Clarke sees the effects of it every day at work in their gaunt and tired bodies, the children's growth stunted by malnutrition. She always tries to give them something to eat, even if it's only an apple or a few biscuits, but she knows it's like fighting a wildfire with a watering can, slow and inefficient and not nearly enough.

Not to mention, most people can't even afford to come to them for medical care anymore. Together with her mother, who took up the lead of the hospital after her husband's death, Clarke has been trying to come up with a way to offer free healthcare for the poorest of the poor. So far, they're having trouble convincing the town's dignitaries to funnel more money into the hospital for their free healthcare scheme. There is one potential sponsor, one of the richest men in town, but his support is not-so-secretly linked to one condition: Finn Collins, owner of several stores, could easily fund their program for at least a year, but it will take more than just professional attention from Clarke to keep him interested. Whenever he and his wife invite the Griffin women over for dinner, his eyes linger on Clarke the entire time, and she's afraid it will be only a matter of time before he asks her to be his mistress. Which is unacceptable, of course. It already irritates many of the townspeople that two unmarried women run the local hospital on their own, and only the lack of a male successor has kept them from being driven off. But Clarke in particular has to make sure that there is not so much as a hint of scandal surrounding her, or what little money they receive from the town's dignitaries will dry up faster than the plains in July.

Clarke has considered simply getting married to protect her reputation – and damn them all to hell for caring about her reputation at all when she is an excellent doctor – but if she does that, she'll give up her independence and risk that her husband forbids her from working. Besides, the only man she'd even consider marrying is her childhood friend Wells, not because she loves him but because he is a good man and he would offer without hesitation, but that of course is prohibited too. Sometimes when she thinks about her situation, Clarke could tear her own hair out in frustration because it seems that, no matter where she turns, all she sees are outdated laws and restrictions and prejudices.

Like so many days before, the many constraints of her current situation weigh heavily on Clarke's mind as she trudges across the town square in the afternoon heat. They've been running low on supplies, and Clarke has been tasked with going to the bank to check if their weekly municipal allowance has arrived yet.

Her absent-mindedness keeps Clarke from noticing that the blinds are drawn at the bank even though it should be open for another thirty minutes, or the large dark pick-up truck parked outside with its motor running. By the time her mind has registered those things, she is standing in the bank's dusty foyer, facing not the long line of people she expected but a group of rather ragged-looking men and one woman, who are pointing guns at the two cashiers behind the counters and the trembling security guard.

Clarke stops dead, her mind going absolutely blank.

One by one, the armed robbers notice her arrival. All except for one that is, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a mop of dark hair who is striding up and down in front of the counters, ranting to the cashiers about economic inequality and social justice while waving a rifle. It's all rather surreal, but Clarke nonetheless notices that his deep voice has a very pleasant timbre. He certainly has a flair for public oration, turning the ravings of a gun-toting madman into an impassioned address. He is stopped abruptly by the woman, who looks stunning in a wild way with her piercing blue eyes, men's trousers and automatic rifle.

“Bellamy!”

“What?” He turns towards her, still not taking note of Clarke until the woman jerks her head in the direction of the door and he becomes aware of her standing there. When his eyes meet hers, Clarke sucks in a breath as if his dark gaze had physically shocked her. His face – which, she has to admit, has a certain pleasant symmetry to it – remains impassive, however, as he turns his head and growls at one of his men.

“Damn it, Miller, you know you're supposed to bar the doors!”

The man he's addressing only grunts in response and continues to shove wads of money into a burlap sack, but the woman clicks her tongue irritatedly.

“We shouldn't be hanging around this long anyway, Bell. It's too risky.”

“By all means, feel free to help Miller so we're out quicker.”

Clarke wonders what the relationship is between the two outlaws. They seem very familiar as they bicker back and forth, and there are even similarities in their stance and the angry flash of their eyes. Clarke is compelled to watch them, completely missing out on the chance to use their distraction to escape.

Someone else has decided to try his luck though: While the two bandits are still staring each other down, the bank's recently hired security guard makes a dive for his gun, discarded on the ground in the middle of the hall, raises it, and shoots.

Why he chooses to aim at the young woman instead of the man who is clearly the gang's leader is a mystery to Clarke, but she watches in horror as the bullet pierces the outlaw's shoulder, causing her to stagger backwards and crumple to the ground. And now it sinks in that, as ordinary as the motley crew may have seemed at first glance, they are still armed and dangerous criminals.

That becomes more than apparent when she looks at the leader again, whom she has by now figured out must be the infamous Bellamy Blake. There is a shadow on his handsome face that holds all the destructive promise of an oncoming storm, and Clarke shivers. Before anyone can react, he has jerked around his weapon and shot at the security guard. Thankfully, his anger must have corrupted his aim, because of the three shots fired, only one even hits its target, piercing through the guard's arm and causing him to drop his gun.

But the outlaw's gun arm has steadied now, and Clarke knows his next shot will hit the shooter's heart.

“Stop!” To her astonishment, her hoarse outcry is heard, as Blake freezes in his movement long enough for her to make her plea. “No one needs to die here today.” To her own astonishment, Clarke finds herself taking a few tentative steps towards the leader of the gang. (Sure, Clarke, walk _towards_ the angry criminal with the gun, a sarcastic inner voice comments.) Once she's closed the distance between them, she gently places a hand on his arm. “You haven't killed anyone so far. Don't make today the day you change that.”

His eyes flicker from Clarke to the security guard to the injured woman, his expression a feral grimace. But underneath the rage on his face and the tension in his muscular arms she sees a man who is terrified and needs nothing more than reassurance. It's a look she knows from the hospital, and she knows how to deal with it.

“She's not that badly hurt. Get her some medical attention quick and she can survive this.”

He ponders this silently for a few seconds before he lowers his weapon, apparently deciding to believe her simply because he wants her to be right. The security guard scrambles back to lean against the wall, holding his bleeding arm, but the bandit is no longer even looking at him.

“Jas, get O outside on the truck.” The lanky, scared-looking man kneeling next to the woman nods and helps her up to guide her out the door.

“Is there a doctor or a nurse in here?“

The question is directed at the small number of bank customers huddled in a corner of the room, but Clarke answers it, causing Blake to swerve back towards her abruptly.

“I am.”

“A nurse?”

“I'm a doctor.”

“ _You're_ a doctor?“

Clarke straightens her back, automatically adopting a defensive stance. She's had to prove herself often enough that it becomes instinct.

“Do you want me to help her or not?”

He looks hesitant for a moment, and this too is a look she knows well – the look of a man doubting that he can trust a 'lady doctor', as she is so charmingly called by the most bigoted of them. But then he nods firmly and steps closer.

“Yes. Please.” The second word is uttered so quietly that only she can hear it. From the desperate way he looks after the injured woman and the fact that he says please even though he could simply force her to help him at gunpoint, Clarke learns two things: One, Bellamy Blake is not a bad man. And two, he needs her. The realisation is enough for her to follow him to the door without protest.

“What are you doing Clarke? You can't possibly think of helping them!”

Brilliant, Clarke thinks at the sound of Finn Collins' voice, _now_ her noble admirer decides to step in. And to make matters worse, she just knows that, even in the midst of a bank robbery, one of the town gossips will have picked up on the overly familiar address.

That finalizes her decision, and as she walks out the door, she can see Blake grinning next to her. By the door, she turns to look back at the frightened townspeople.

“Someone get that injured man to my mother, and quickly.”

That finally causes some movement, but she doesn't stay to watch as she walks outside and lets Bellamy help her onto the back of the truck where the young woman is sitting next to the gangster called Jas, looking paler by the second. Bellamy closes the hatch and yells at the driver to hit the gas, and Clarke instructs the woman to lie down and starts assessing the damage as they rumble out of town.

Clarke has never treated anyone on the back of a moving vehicle, with several guns pointed in her general direction and the threat of police pursuit hanging over her, but she finds to her surprise that she remains relatively unfazed. All she sees right now is skin and muscle and bone and blood vessels, and those are things she knows.

Carefully, she turns the woman slightly so that she can check for an exit wound on her back and is relieved to find one.

“She's lucky, the bullet went through clean. But I'll need to suture the wound, and for that you need to stop the car.”

It takes them a while to find a suitable spot, so Clarke remains kneeling next to the young woman, pressing on the wound as hard as she can to try and stem the bleeding. Every time they're jostled by a bump in the road, the woman moans in pain, until she finally blessedly passes out. A few miles out of town, they find an abandoned, half-collapsed shed, and Bellamy hands her a well-stocked first aid kit that contains gauze, suture thread and needles, disinfectant alcohol and even a scalpel.

Clarke makes short work of cleaning, suturing and wrapping the entry and exit wounds on the woman's shoulder, and then they're off again, the gang anxious to put some distance between them and the town. Which, she realises only now, presents her with a problem. Looking down at her trembling hands, she lets the full extent of her situation sink in: She is essentially being kidnapped by a notorious outlaw gang, and while they have been remarkably peaceful so far, they're still armed and dangerous, and she has no intention of making history as their first fatality.

Just then, the outlaw leader takes hold of her hands. She flinches and tries to pull away, but he holds on to her wrists with one hand while using the other to gently dab at her skin with an alcohol-soaked cloth, wiping off the blood with slow, soothing strokes. For a moment, she can only stare open-mouthed as his hands, hands that have wielded a deadly weapon not too long ago, carry out the strangely intimate task.

“You did good.“ She acknowledges the statement – is it praise? thanks? - with a nod and he continues with the air of someone making a very gracious offer: “Want us to throw you off the truck somewhere nearby? You can simply walk back and tell everyone you've been kidnapped and let go, no harm done.“

Clarke considers it. The hospital needs her, the poor especially. Then again, there's barely enough money left to justify paying her mother. And maybe here she can work towards the goal of getting funds for the hospital more efficiently. (If you can call what they're doing _work_ , which she really shouldn't.) In any case, it's got to be better than being some rich man's mistress in exchange for charity. And if a small part of her wonders if she's about to simply exchange being a rich man's mistress for being a criminal's mistress, well, at least she knows whose mistress she'd rather be. She blushes as the outlaw lets go of her hands and she finds herself missing the contact.

Clarke meets his eyes unblinkingly, her voice steady when she replies. “Just keep driving.“

He raises an eyebrow in surprise, but then he smiles and it's the most beautiful thing Clarke has ever seen.

“Don't say I didn't give you a chance to get off this ride.“

He bangs twice on the roof of the cabin and the truck speeds up, leaving her hometown behind in the dust.

Clarke doesn't look back. She turns her head into the wind and lets it tousle her hair, which has long since come undone from its loose braid. She can feel Blake's eyes on her, but rather than unsettle her, the warmth of his gaze helps her not to fall apart at the thought of what she's in the process of doing.

“You are something else, Doctor.”

 

***

 

Three weeks later, Clarke is standing in the wood-panelled foyer of yet another small-town bank with the notorious 'Robin Hood of the Midwest' and his merry men, minus the recovering Octavia and their getaway driver Monty, who is waiting outside in the truck as always. This time, Clarke too is holding a rifle as she yells the most mortifying sentence to have ever passed her lips:

“This is a fuck-up, motherstickers!“

Next to her, her beautiful bandit starts laughing so hard he accidentally fires a shot at the ceiling. Then he throws his arm around her and pulls her close for an enthusiastic kiss. Clarke lowers her weapon to press herself against him and respond in kind, trusting Miller and Jasper to have their backs. Over the blood rushing through her head she hears cheers and laughter, and when she breaks away, breathing hard, she finds that some of the customers gathered in a corner of the room are applauding.

***

 

Bellamy and Clarke manage to evade justice for ten months before their car is driven off the road by pursuing police and explodes upon crashing into a gas station tank.

The rest of the gang scatters after that and goes into hiding, and the public soon looses interest in them.

One year after Abby Griffin has read about her daughter's death in the newspaper, a young couple comes into her hospital, a blue-eyed, brunette woman who is exquisitely beautiful and heavily pregnant, and a gangly, nervous man. Abby examines the woman and tells her that all seems to be well with her child, and before they leave, the young woman impulsively hugs her and presses a heavy briefcase into her hand. When she says “Thank you“, her voice sounds choked up, but Abby doesn't get a chance to ask what's wrong before the couple rushes out.

When she snaps the briefcase open, she almost lets it drop to the floor: Inside are bills that must amount to tens of thousands of dollars, as well as an envelope with her name on it in very familiar writing.

Abby opens the envelope with shaking hands and pulls out a letter. The moment she has unfolded the single sheet, her eyes fly to the bottom of the page, only to fill with tears at the signature: _Love, Clarke_ is scrawled across the bottom.

The letter contains answers to every question Abby has had since her daughter took off with a notorious gang almost two years ago, as well as instructions to use any money she receives to provide the poor with free healthcare like they planned. Once she's made it through the letter, Abby is smiling through her tears. Clarke apparently wanted to let her mother know that she's found her purpose and the love of her life, and part of her is relieved that her headstrong daughter managed to escape the confines of this stuffy town. Nonetheless, Abby wishes Clarke was still by her side, a little less happy maybe but alive.

But then something else flutters out of the envelope, a photograph, and looking at it, Abby suddenly feels a little selfish for wishing that the 'Robin Hood of the Midwest' had never set foot into this town. The picture shows Clarke, beaming as she stands in front of a pick-up truck with several armed figures sitting on the back. Her arms are around a tall, dark-haired man, and while everyone else is looking at the camera, the man is looking down on Clarke with an expression that makes it hard for Abby to wrap her head around the idea that this is supposed to be a bad man.

Whatever else he might have done, Abby thinks, the outlaw Bellamy Blake loved her daughter.

 

_He's a bandit and a heart breaker  
Oh, but Jesus was a cross maker_

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by folk singer Judee Sill, who had a fascinating, tragic life. Sill fell in with a group of bandits as a teenager and took part in their robberies, and at her first robbery she made the slip of the tongue that happens to Clarke here. The quotes and title for this story are from Sill's eponymous 'Jesus Was A Cross Maker', which I had on repeat while writing this.  
> I made Finn Clarke's smarmy suitor here, which I'm a little sorry about. I also had Octavia end up with Jasper here, although I'm normally not a fan of the pairing.  
> I am very excited about this story, but I'm scared I gave everyone mood whiplash with the ending, so please let me know what you thought.


End file.
